


Magnificent Stallion

by Island_of_Reil



Category: Norse Religion & Lore, Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Animal Transformation, Bittersweet Ending, Canon Era, Crack, Gods, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Magic, Mating, Mythical Beings & Creatures, horse sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 20:57:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4152669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Island_of_Reil/pseuds/Island_of_Reil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“You are, my young friend, an absolutely magnificent stallion. And you are destined to sire the Best of All Horses, the Steed of the All-Father, upon me.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magnificent Stallion

**Author's Note:**

> [Kinkmeme prompt.](http://snkkink.dreamwidth.org/13546.html?thread=8838122#cmt8838122) I had to rewrite it a bit after looking up the gestation period of horses.

**Early spring 854**

After almost two years of training, Jean didn’t have very much modesty left. In the year gone by, he’d started thinking he didn’t have much to be modest _about_. Unlike certain suicidal bastards he could name whom he’d caught more than once glancing enviously at him in the showers.

Still, though, Mikasa was on the training grounds with him and the others. He didn’t care if dumbass Sasha saw his junk, or, well, a girl like Ymir. But something in him cringed at the thought of taking a leak in front of the most beautiful girl in the 104th. Even if only because she might have kicked his ass for it.

By the time he’d made it behind the big oak tree at the edge of the grounds, he thought his bladder was going to explode. For the thousandth time he thanked whatever gods there were that, no matter how much of a pain in the ass the straps were, whoever designed the uniform had at least made it easy to whip your dick out of it. Jean got his in hand, aimed at a clump of weeds, and — head tilted back, eyes closing in relief — drenched them thoroughly.

“A most enticing show,” a strange male voice said over the patter of the last few drops.

Jean’s eyes opened again as he raised his head with a frown. He started to make his usual snide remark about peeping toms, especially the kind who peeped on teenage boys, but the words died in his open mouth.

The man standing off to Jean’s right wore a long green cape, much longer than the ones the Survey Corps wore. His pants and boots were unremarkable if nice enough. But his upper body was encased in a type of armor Jean had never seen before. The interlocking metal pieces were green and gold, reminding Jean of beetles. He had a long staff in his left hand with what looked like a big chunk of blue glass at the top — that couldn’t be a _jewel_ , could it?

The weirdest thing about the guy, though, was his helmet. It had long horns on it that rose up to curve back in on themselves, like that one deer-like animal in Armin’s heretical book.

“Greetings, Jean Kirschtein,” the man said.

“How do you know my name?” Jean demanded, the hairs on the back of his neck starting to rise as he hastily tucked his dick away. Was this guy _stalking_ him, maybe hoping to kidnap him? Jean wasn’t exactly prime goods for slavers, but there were perverts out there who liked all kinds of things. Could be this weirdo was one of them.

The man smiled. He had brilliant blue eyes under black brows that, though slender, were strong and expressive. Jean’s dick twitched a little. What could he say, he was a sucker for blue eyes. Sometimes literally. That didn’t mean he was going to go off into the bushes with some guy who’d probably gotten the wrong directions to a costume ball in Sina, going by his outfit and his fancy accent.

“I am privy to many sources of information that would surprise you,” the man said, continuing to smile as he leaned against another tree. “I have been keeping my eye on you for a while, Jean.”

Jean’s teeth ground together. “Fuckin’ _creep,_ ” he spat out from between them, bracing his shoulders and clenching his fists.

The black brows lifted. “Oh, no,” the man said mildly. He opened both hands completely, letting the staff fall to the ground. “Please, do not mistake me for a common debaucher of youths. I mean you no harm. I would that you would listen to what I have to say, as … unlikely as you may find it.”

Jean’s spine and shoulders remained taut, but he unclenched his jaw and fists. It occurred to him that if this dude _was_ just out for a piece of ass, he probably wouldn’t have dressed up like that to go trolling for it. The armor, maybe. Odd choice for getting someone into the sack, but he could see the appeal. The horns… yeah, maybe some people popped wood over those, but Jean kiiiiiinda doubted it was a common kink.

“Okay,” he said. “So. Who are you, why have you been ‘keeping an eye’ on me, and what the fuck is up with your outfit, anyway?”

The man grinned. “My name is Loki Laufeyson. I am one of the Æsir — that which you might call a ‘god.’ I am clad in royal vestments, as suits my rank. And I have come from Asgard, the realm of my people, here to Midgard to make your acquaintance — for you, as well as I, are burdened with glorious purpose.”

Jean frowned. “‘Midgard’? This is southwest Rose. I’ve never heard of a place called ‘Midgard.’” Other than his name, it was the least ridiculous of the things the guy — Loki — had just said. But maybe if Jean focused on that, everything else might fall into place. Somehow.

“Midgard, Jean, is the realm of humans. There are nine realms, all in all. But I did not seek you out to give you such lessons.”

“So,” Jean said. “Why _did_ you, then?”

The blue eyes twinkled. “Because, Jean, you are destined to father my child.”

A few seconds of silence went by.

“Um,” said Jean.

Loki stood there with the same gentle, yet unnerving, smile on his lips. Jean’s mouth worked a few times before he said, “You’re, uh, a guy.”

“Yes, and?” Loki asked, his expression unchanged.

“Well… I mean… two guys can’t make a baby. Unless, you know, uh…” Jean turned red. “I mean, a really smart friend of mine says there are some guys with girl parts and some girls with guy parts.” Jean really hated Loki for making him come out with a dumb, awkward sentence like that. He didn’t even know _why_ he should feel awkward around some dude who’d come up to him out of the blue and told him they were going to make a baby together. “But… there aren’t a lot of them around. You don’t have, you know, girl parts, do you?”

Loki started to chuckle. “Well, Jean, I can have any ‘parts’ I choose to. But the ‘parts’ I would assume in order to conceive our child would not be, precisely speaking, ‘girl parts.’ They would be more aptly termed… ‘mare parts.’”

Jean’s back went rigid again. With a snarl of “Fuck you, asshole,” he turned around to begin the walk back to the training grounds — and banged into something solid that didn’t appear to be there at all. He fell square on his ass, his forehead and nose smarting.

“What the hell….?” he said dazedly.

“A simple force field,” Loki all but sang, sounding rather proud of himself. “My apologies for the incipient bruises, but you do receive worse several times a day in the course of your training.”

Jean rubbed his face, then craned his head around to glare at Loki. “So first you make fun of me, then you stick an invisible wall in front of me so I can’t walk away from you. You always this smooth when you’re trying to pick a guy up?”

“Yes, of course, I prevented you from taking your leave,” Loki replied. “But please believe me when I say I did not mock you. You are, my young friend, an absolutely magnificent stallion. And you are destined to sire the Best of All Horses, the Steed of the All-Father, upon me.”

Jean’s first impulse was to say that Loki was fucking crazy. But Loki had just turned the air in front of Jean into a goddamn wall. So maybe it was Jean who was fucking crazy. Maybe he’d wake up on the ground in a few minutes to Shadis slapping his face and telling Reiner to carry Jean’s feverish ass to the infirmary.

Or maybe this Loki Laufeyson guy was telling the truth.

“All right,” Jean said. Not that he was _agreeing_ to any of this yet. Okay, Loki was kind of hot. He’d probably be even hotter if he took that dumbfuck helmet off. But… he was going to turn into a _mare_? And Jean was supposed to fuck him in _that_ form? That… really wasn’t a turn-on. It wasn’t like Jean never had any perverted thoughts, he had them all the time, but banging a horse wasn’t one of them. He stood up, brushed the dirt and grass off his pants, and said, “So, uh. How is this supposed to happen?”

Loki’s smile broadened. Jean thought for a minute he could fall right into that smile and never come up.

And then Loki raised his right hand.

Jean gaped. He hadn’t even blinked, but standing before him now was not Loki. It was a mare with a blindingly white coat and a long mane as black and silky as Mikasa’s hair, her right foreleg lifted in the air. She looked at him with the same blue eyes that Loki had, and, he’d swear, she fucking _winked_ at him.

And then she turned tail and ran, and—

_—Jean’s bones began to stretch under his skin, the muscles following to sheathe them. His skin, suddenly bare to the cooling breeze, began to thicken. The toes of each foot merged into one hard mass, leather no longer encasing them; his fingers too melded together to become harder than any fist. New hair seemed to erupt from his shorn nape as his neck itself stretched and rose. The bones of his face shifted and narrowed, his nose elongating, his eyes suddenly able to sweep the landscape nearly all the way around his body—_

_—and then the stallion was running after the mare, head lowered, all hooves pounding hard against the dirt and grass, the wind whipping through his mane. The sway of her haunches, the twitch of her tail, the scent of her heat carried back to him on the wind, all these made the pipe-like length of his sexual organ stiffen beneath him._

_How far they ran, he had no idea; measurement was a notion of men, not beasts. But they left the structures of humans far behind them, racing across open fields and into a forest redolent of pine and of fallen greenery being folded back into the earth. She crashed through thickets and shrubs, the thorns glancing off her coat. His hooves shredded them anew in his pursuit of her; the brambles caught and tore at his skin, but he paid them no mind._

_She stopped in a clearing, the deadfall hissing under her hooves as she skid to a stop. Her flanks heaved, and he could see her nostrils flaring with his scent. White showed all around the unhorselike blue of the eye that faced him. Holding his gaze, she slowly and deliberately lifted her silken black tail, displaying the engorged, winking heart of her sex as a stream of urine gushed forth from it._

_His lips flared over his teeth as he raised his muzzle, his rampant organ bumping against his underside. And then he was upon her with a triumphant neigh, scrambling to his hind legs and throwing his forelegs astride her flanks as she switched her tail to the left. His rear hooves danced in the molding leaves and twigs until the tip of his sex found purchase just within her opening. Anchored, he thrust and thrust. The sinews of his groin and thighs strained, and his thorn-scratched skin fluttered over his full-sprung ribs as he rested them against her hips. Once, twice, she shifted beneath him to accommodate his weight, but otherwise she stood acquiescent to receive him._

_Within moments his thrusts grew short and stuttery, and then he peaked, releasing an endless stream of seed into the white mare. Whickering softly, he gave her mane one last nuzzle before he dropped to the forest floor behind her, hooves regaining their purchase in the shifting deadfall. She turned her head to the side once more, and the lid fell and rose just once over the strangely blue eye—_

*

“Cadet Kirschtein!”

Jean groaned and rolled over onto his side, but powerful hands grabbed his shoulders and pulled him upward to make him sit on the ground.

“What the hell’s going on with you, cadet?” the commander bellowed in his face, sounding and looking fractionally less furious and more concerned than he usually did. Jean cringed. Goddamn, Shadis’s breath was nasty.

“Whatever it is, it’s something fun,” Jean heard Connie say from a short distance away. “Look at the front of his pants.” A wave of titters rose around Jean and Shadis. Jean pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them hard, lowering his reddened, scowling face over them.

“Cadet Braun!” Shadis yelled. “Help him to the infirmary.”

“I’m fine, sir,” Jean muttered, standing up and turning around fast.

“You sure, man?” Reiner asked, looking concerned, a little grossed out, and a little embarrassed at being grossed out.

“Yeah, I’m sure, thanks,” Jean said. He began to walk back to the barracks, grimacing at how sticky his pants felt. Not the ordinary come-in-your-pants kind of stickiness, but like someone had hosed the entire front of them down with—

Then he remembered. And stopped short just a few meters away from where he’d stood up.

“Cadet Kirschtein!” Shadis hollered again. “Get your ass to the infirmary. Walk, be carried, I don’t care which.”

“I— I’m okay, Commander,” Jean stammered, feet frozen to the ground.

“Then get your ass back to the barracks, change your pants, and get back here immediately,” Shadis snapped.

“Maybe you _should_ get looked at, Jean,” Marco said with concern. “You were unconscious when we found you, not just asleep. On the ground.”

Jean closed his eyes and sent up silent a prayer of thanks that Marco didn’t mention … the other thing. “Yeah,” he said. Maybe Loki had drugged him somehow, then ... Jean didn’t want to think about the part after the “then.” Or maybe ... that shit actually happened, and who the hell knew what it could’ve done to his body. His human body.

“Yeah, Marco, you’re right,” he said. “I’ll go to the infirmary, Commander.”

“Did you, uh, want a hand?” Reiner asked tentatively. Connie snickered.

“No,” Jean all but snarled. Unfortunately the infirmary was in the opposite direction from the barracks so he had to turn around again. Hunched over, arms crossed over his groin, he stumbled back across the spot where he’d been found, the giggling all around him making his ears burn.

The medics on duty at the infirmary didn’t laugh at him. One of them looked at him suspiciously, while the other seemed extremely concerned, almost alarmed. Somehow, Jean thought, both those reactions were worse than getting laughed at. He hadn’t been drugged and sexually assaulted… right? But he hadn’t been in the stables jerking off the horses, either, which is what he’d have sworn the first medic was thinking. He let them take his vitals, feel his neck glands, listen to his chest, and examine his junk. He obediently pissed in a glass flask so they could examine it. He curtly declined to give a blood sample, which they didn’t press him for. And then he trudged back to the barracks, the front of his pants feeling like they’d been double-starched by now, to shower and change.

To Jean’s vast relief, that was pretty much the end of the story. Well, except for some snide remarks from Daz and Connie, but after he threw Daz into a trashcan and ripped Connie’s underwear in half giving him a wedgie, that shit stopped. Even Eren didn’t say anything about it, although Jean kinda wished he would have. You can’t really punch someone in the face for giving you embarrassed, awkward looks for weeks.

Mikasa, for her part, acted like the entire thing had never happened. She really deserved better than Eren Jaeger, Jean thought for the eight thousandth time since having met her.

 

**Early spring 855**

“Military Police, here we come!” Jean whooped, banging his mug into Marco’s and sloshing ale over his own hand. Marco, with a grin, upended his own mug.

Jean followed suit, ignoring the scowl from Eren at the table kitty-corner to theirs. If that suicidal bastard wanted to be titan fodder, that was his business. Too bad he’d be taking the hottest and strongest girl in the 104th down with him. But, even if she was a lot more level-headed than Eren (which admittedly wasn’t saying much), Jean had learned over the last three years that you couldn’t tell Mikasa anything, either.

He wasn’t going to let any of that ruin his and Marco’s night out on the town. Graduation was only a month and a half away, and then they were in for nice, cushy, and — most importantly — _safe_ jobs with the MPs for life.

A few minutes later, the barmaid came back to their table. “Hey, Jean, honey. There’s a fella at the back door wants to talk to you.”

Jean put down his mug with a frown. Who’d be looking for him here on a party night, besides maybe his mom, and as far as she knew her little Jean-bo never touched ale or vine anyway? “Know who it is?” he asked the barmaid.

She shook her head. “No, never seen him before. He’s got this funny accent, kinda like Sina but not quite. Nice-lookin’ fella, dark hair, bright blue eyes. And he’s carrying some kind of bundle.”

A stab of cold went through Jean. “Um. Okay,” he said, pushing his chair back and standing up.

“Who’d you piss off this time, Jean?” Connie called out from the table behind Jean and Marco’s.

“Your mom, for dumping her after she sucked me off,” Jean snapped, earning a burst of jeering laughter from a dozen other soldiers and Connie chucking a handful of sawdust at his back. He didn’t look at any of them as he followed the barmaid out into the rear hallway of the tavern, ducking other barmaids and a busboy, and to the back entrance.

“Many thanks, my sweet,” Loki Laufeyson said to the barmaid from the other side of the door.

“Sure thing, honey,” she replied, turning back toward the serving hall. Jean, his heart pounding, stepped outside and shut the door behind him.

Loki wasn’t wearing his armor, helmet, or cape, just a tunic that, like his pants and boots, was plain but obviously well made. He didn’t have his staff with him. His long black hair was tied back in a queue. And, like the barmaid said, he held a bundle in his arms, one that was large and strangely shaped and covered with a lightweight blanket.

“What are you doing here?” Jean hissed.

Loki smiled, which made the skin around his eyes crinkle, which did things to Jean’s groin. “I thought you might want, just once, to see your child. _Our_ child.”

_You are destined to sire the Best of All Horses, the Steed of the All-Father, upon me._

Jean’s throat tightened. So he was now the father of a goddamn _horse._ On the other hand, he’d heard that parents almost always loved their kids from the first moment they looked at them. _Just once?_ Was he gonna fall in love with the … foal, then mope for the rest of the night and for days, maybe even years, because he’d never see it again?

But if he decided not to see it, would he regret it for the rest of his life?

“Uh, yeah, I guess so,” he said, his voice rough.

Loki slowly drew back the blanket several centimeters. The little silver-grey face beneath it had an amber eye on either side of its long, pointy-noised head. The fluffy bit of mane that Jean could see was black.

“Jean, meet Sleipnir,” Loki said.

An odd warmth began to spread in Jean’s chest. He reached out tentatively, and Sleipnir nuzzled his hand.

“Here,” Loki said, and a peeled chestnut suddenly appeared between Jean’s fingertips. Refusing to think too hard about that, he offered it to the foal, who began to nibble it delicately.

“He’s… it’s a colt, right?” Jean asked. Loki nodded. “He’s pretty.”

“That’s not all he is, Jean,” Loki said, and drew the blanket the rest of the way off Sleipnir.

“Um,” Jean said quietly. “Is that, like, a birth defect or something?”

Loki laughed softly, a rich, velvety sound that did more things to Jean’s groin. “No, my magnificent young friend,” he said. “To be born with eight legs is the mark of a sacred horse, one better than any other. When Sleipnir is full-grown, he shall stand taller than any other horse and have teeth that runes shall be cut on. He shall be able to ride for days and nights without sleep, fly through the air, and journey to all the realms. As I have told you, he shall be a most fitting steed for my foster-father Odin, the All-Father.”

“Wow,” Jean said. His throat felt tight again. “So… you said ‘just once.’ Meaning, I’ll never see him again. Right?”

Loki suddenly looked very sad. “No, Jean. I fear that cannot be.”

Shit, why were Jean’s eyes starting to burn? “Will you tell… I mean, is there any way to tell him about me? His dad?”

Loki smiled again. “Not in human words, Jean. But… he will know. I promise you that much. And I promise you more than that: as his honored sire, you shall have me and the All-Father keeping watch on you in battle, that you have the chance to grow into a fine warrior and a finer man. Someday, many years hence, we will all share a drink together in the Hall of the Fallen.”

Jean nodded. He didn’t feel able to get words out right at the moment. He reached out again and ruffled Sleipnir’s baby-mane, then stroked the colt’s pale face. Sleipnir whuffled happily against his palm.

“And now we must depart,” Loki said softly, a world of sadness in his rich voice.

“Goodbye,” Jean whispered, withdrawing his hand.

“Farewell, Jean Kirschtein,” Loki murmured. 

Jean closed his eyes briefly to hold back the tears. When he opened them again, Loki and Sleipnir were gone.

“You _know_ him?” a low voice came from behind him. Jean spun around hard to face a narrow-eyed Ymir.

“Huh?” he croaked, her question jolting him out of his melancholy. “What are you doing out here?”

“I went to the outhouses for a piss and heard voices over here when I was walking back. Recognized both of them. So: Loki Laufeyson. Where’d you meet him, anyway?” she demanded.

Jean stared blankly at her for a few seconds, then glared back. “What the fuck business of it is yours? And where do _you_ know him from?”

Ymir’s mouth flattened. “Long story,” she said.

“Yeah, I bet it is,” Jean muttered, passing a hand over his face.

“But yeah, you’re right, it’s not my business,” Ymir said. “So all I’ll tell you, Jean, is to be careful around him. He’s… not a good person, no matter how you slice it.”

Something cold knotted in Jean’s gut. “Really?” he asked woodenly.

“Yeah.” Ymir shook her head. “I can’t really tell you about it, but yeah.”

“When you say ‘not a good person’…” Jean swallowed. “Is he someone who’d harm kids? Like, his own kids?”

Ymir's face went blank, unreadable. A few seconds later she carefully said, “Dude wouldn’t hesitate to kill other people’s kids. His own? Nah, I don’t think so. Other people haven’t been all that good to them, but, I gotta say, some of it was deserved. And, generally speaking, any kid of Loki’s can more than fend for themselves.”

“Okay,” Jean said, feeling the icy knot loosen somewhat. He leaned against the outside wall and closed his eyes again with a sigh.

“Are you all right?” Ymir asked. When Jean opened his eyes again, she seemed genuinely concerned, a look he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen on her before.

“Yeah. Yeah… I’ll be fine,” Jean said. “Sounds like I’m not gonna see him ever again, anyway. At least not… not in my lifetime.”

After a few seconds, Ymir said, “You can probably guess, but I overheard about the horse.”

Jean’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “You better not fucking _tell_ anyone.”

She snorted. “Yeah, I totally want to spend the rest of my life in the insane asylum in Mitras. If they didn’t just toss me over Wall Rose instead. Who’s gonna believe that shit? I mean, other than you and me.”

Jean sighed again, loud and deep. This night had started out so well. And… it was still well, he guessed. He had a … a son who’d do awesome things someday, and he had gods looking out for him. But it was a much different night than it had been just half an hour ago. Not as much fun. Kind of serious and sad.

“I need a drink,” he said to Ymir, to himself, and to the back alley in general. “A lot of drinks, with a lot of booze in them.”

“That’s a great idea,” Ymir said, hooking her arm in his. “You and Marco can come sit with me and Krista. We’ll all get totally shitfaced, and then we’ll split a coach four ways back to the barracks.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jean muttered, letting her lead him back in through the rear door of the tavern.


End file.
